


Hurricane

by InvisibleLee



Series: "Who Killed Markiplier?" Shorts [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Who Killed Markiplier?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvisibleLee/pseuds/InvisibleLee
Summary: Abe used to go to the richer side of town just to see the greener grass. He didn't expect to find something so gorgeous.





	Hurricane

Abe met the beautiful boy named Mark for the first time when they were young. He would wander his way into the richer neighborhoods to admire the pristine grass, the soft colors of the sky that somehow looked brighter, the tall houses and elegant landscapes and the flowers that seemed to be everywhere. He would walk for almost an hour just to get there, and there was always a small group of boys. 

 

He learned their names quickly and they never learned his. He watched from the benches and afar, and no one ever noticed. Not William, who wore clothes a little bigger than himself. Not Damien, who looked so put-together, he imagined the boy's mother nearly cried when he came home dirty. And most certainly not Mark, who jumped about and held the energy of the group. He would shout and come up with insane ideas of play, and the other two would grin up him, entranced by his imagination.

 

At first, Abe sneered at their silly notions. He didn't play much himself. He preferred the quiet of the rich neighborhood, always had. The three boys were merely a distraction that he would roll his eyes at. Even at the age of nine, he knew these three were nothing short of crazy.

 

But the more he saw them, the more entranced he became of Mark. In quite the same way that the man held his two friends hostage by his energy and such, Abe was quickly falling in line. But where Damien and William got along just as easily, the three clearly inseparable, Abe had eyes for Mark alone. He was drawn in by his voice, his posture, his confidence and fearlessness and compassion.

 

Abe got a bicycle when he was twelve, and one day, he rode it into the same neighborhood as ever after school. He was somewhat hoping that he could catch the attention of the three. But when he rolled down the roads, they all passed him by on newer bikes. His had been passed down from a cousin. 

 

He wasn't ashamed of his own family or upbringing. But this was the day he remembered his place. The thought hit him hard.

 

_ He didn't belong here. _

 

His front tire hit a jagged rock on the road, his foot touched the spokes, his pants leg caught, and the bike flipped forward. Abe smashed onto the pavement with a yelp. Knees skinned and bleeding, ankle rolled and arms bruised, he forced back a sob as he rolled onto his side to view the displaced tire.

 

Tears formed in his eyes and slipped out of the corners of them without his permission. His mother was going to have a stern talk with him over this. She wouldn't be angry, not really, just  _ disappointed.  _

 

Before he could gather the courage to try to stand, there was a shadow over him, and he looked up to see the three boys he'd been watching for years. William looked bemused, somehow, Damien the epitome of worry, and Mark leaned over him with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

 

Even at thirteen, the boy was  _ beautiful. _

 

“Uh, are you okay?” Damien piped up.

 

“What?” Abe croaked, voice cracking over the words, pushing past the horrible ache in his throat. The threat of full tears was there.

 

“I think he's asking if you're alive or not,” came the response, from William this time. Mark didn't say anything, instead holding out a hand for Abe to reluctantly take and pull himself into a sitting position. 

 

“... Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay.”

 

“You're bleeding and crying.”

 

Those were the first words Mark ever spoke to him. Admittedly, the words weren't anything worth reverence. A mere acknowledgement of his outward appearance, a statement of fact. He was covered in cuts and bruises, and tears were still leaking from the corners of his eyes.

 

But these words, directed at him in those silky tones, which would only get smoother with age, struck him in the heart. Pierced through whatever guard he held with people. Compliments or insults ever fazed him, but these offhanded comments seemed to make him step back. Figuratively. In a way, it was a reminder that they were just kids. Mark's words could have been insulting. Could have called him out on his drabby clothing, or his ratty shoes or his evident financial state. The few other times kids had caught him around, or even the adults, he had heard the whispers.

 

_ “That's the Lincoln boy.” _

_ “From downtown? Where is his mother?” _

_ “Why is he here?” _

 

These were the days he held his head high and planted himself on the grass between some house or other and stared up the clouds. Over time, the whispers stopped. He was around too often to be a novelty worth talking about anymore, and on one hand, he was glad. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the words hurt. The way he was looked down upon could hurt him.

 

But rather than being like the ones who raised him, Mark had noted what really mattered, and Abe knew, even then, that this boy would be his weakness. He had no thoughts of the future, but there was a feeling nonetheless. These three friends stared at him as he stood on shaky legs, wiping the tears away from his eyes with trembling hands. He glanced down at himself. Dirty, bloody, bruised. Broken. He looked back up at them. Clean, polished, refined. Sturdy.

 

_ He didn’t belong here. _

 

He forced a smile onto his face, a big, childish grin. It seemed to startle Damien and William, but Mark seemed to brighten at it. His hand reached out, pat the shoulder of Mark.

 

“I’m fine. Nothing that doesn’t happen on the regular. Everyone’s gotta have their adventures that go wrong, eh?”

 

“Absolutely! Say, do you want to stick around---”

 

“I have to get home, really. My mom is going to have a fit if I’m not back for dinner, and I have to deal with that at some point,” Abe interrupted his words, gesturing to his broken bicycle. He felt his smile twist a little, something sd behind his eyes. Something he was sure the others could see. He picked it up without issue, holding the disconnected tire in one hand. 

 

“Well,” Mark tried. “See you around, then?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Abe gave a little shrug before he turned away from them, forcing himself to walk through the pain in his body, to hold his head high, to keep straight. To keep his expression neutral. 

 

“I never caught your name!” Mark called out. “We’re---”

 

“Goodbye, Mark, Damien, and William!”

 

Abe called out their names as he made his way, seeming to shock them back into silence. They didn’t know for how long he had watched them, taking pleasure in their little playtimes. And to think, his hopes for playing _ with _ Mark had almost come true. And yet, he’d turned his back on all that might have been offered from it. Turned around and walked away.

 

Because they were kids, it wouldn’t have been a big deal for him to play with them. Children played together like that a lot. But Abe knew his place. Abe knew he’d made a mistake, perhaps, in getting attached. Friends weren’t forever, so he had learned. No, friends came and went. But he knew enough in himself that he didn’t want Mark to come and go. Not like that.

 

_ He didn’t belong there. _ If he stayed, Mark would go. 

 

That was the last thing Abe wanted for the beautiful boy he had found himself holding dear.


End file.
